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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27658949">The subtle art of winning, Milkovich style</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeJean/pseuds/LeeJean'>LeeJean</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Shameless: Mickey &amp; Ian Gap Fillers [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Gap Filler, Gun Violence, Homophobic Language, M/M, Racist Language, Referenced Statutory Rape, Season 1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:56:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,519</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27658949</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeJean/pseuds/LeeJean</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in season 1 starting when Ian is studying with Mandy, and suddenly realizes he needs a trip to the bathroom.</p><p>Excerpt: Mickey knows he’s well and truly fucked when Ian shows up at his door unexpected, out of breath and looking fragile as fuck.</p><p>“I need to see you.”</p><p>“I-I-I don’t know where else to go.”</p><p>No one ever comes to Mickey. No one ever NEEDS Mickey.  Not like this.  Not for emotional shit.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Shameless: Mickey &amp; Ian Gap Fillers [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022445</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>132</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The subtle art of winning, Milkovich style</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Minor change from canon - they are playing a different video game.</p><p>Not beta read.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Damn Gallagher, where’d you learn to fuck like that?” Mickey asks.He’d be more embarrassed by the question if he wasn’t so blissed out from the truly epic dicking.Mickey flips over on his bed, landing on his back, and folds his hands under his head on the pillow.He’s able to study Ian while the boy’s head is down, concentrating on shuffling back into his jeans.“You keep a harem of grade ten fags locked up in that van of yours?Bang a different dude every night?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Ian’s face flames red as he zips up his pants and tucks in his t-shirt.“Nah,” he says, in an ‘aw shucks, I’m so innocent’ kind of way.Mickey holds back a snort.Ain’t nothing innocent about this kid.Mickey’s got the sore ass and bruises on his neck to prove it.“I’ve just been with two guys, and only one pretty regularly.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah?” Mickey asks.“Who’s that?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I shouldn’t say,” Ian says, looking at Mickey through his lashes.It’s some coy, girly shit, but Mickey’s heart still skips a beat.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah you should.Gotta know who the queers are in the neighborhood.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“So you can get fucked by them?” Ian asks, cocking his head and grinning at Mickey.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey pushes himself up and grabs a cigarette.“Nah man, so I know which kids to beat the shit out of if they look at me wrong.”He inhales deeply as Ian’s smile stretches.“What?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Nothing,” Ian says, shaking his head.He grabs his hoodie from the floor.“I should get back to Mandy.She’ll be wondering where I am.She’s making pizza bagels.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah?Hmm, might be tempted to hang out with you assholes,” Mickey says.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You better put some clothes on first,” Ian replies, eyes grazing over Mickey’s body, burning a trail on his already overheated skin.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Get the fuck out,” Mickey says with a smirk, throwing a pillow at Gallagher.Ian catches it, and sends it back, smacking Mickey right in the face.“Ooh, a tough guy.You’re gonna get it, Gallagher.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You’re gonna get it, Mickey,” Ian says, low and gruff.“And I’ll be the one who gives it to you.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey bites back the ‘fuck yes’ that threatens to come tumbling out of his mouth.He could go for round two, if his sister wasn’t in the next room.But Ian’s already moving away, which is a really fucking good idea.At the door he pauses, and says, “it’s Kash.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“What’s cash?” Mickey asks.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Who I’ve been fucking”, Ian says, and closes the door behind him.</span>
</p><p class="p3">******</p><p class="p3">It’s Kash.  IT’S KASH.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It’s Kash, that fucking cowardly, waste of skin Mussie.Mickey fucking hates him.Has always hated him, for being a spineless piece of shit.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Now he’s gonna fucking kill him.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">As if being a chicken-shit faggot brown ass wasn’t enough, the prick had to add pedophile to the list?He’s fucking married. With kids!What the fuck?And Gallagher’s his employee.It’s just wrong on every fucking level Mickey can think of.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He grabs an empty beer off the bedside table, gears up to smash the bottle against the wall, when he hears Ian’s laugh bubble through the door where it’s open a crack.Mickey jumps to his feet and hauls on his shirt and sweats.He’ll figure out what to do about Kash later.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Right now, he just really needs a pizza bagel.</span>
</p><p class="p3">******</p><p class="p3">Mickey flops down on the couch next to Ian, grabbing the controller from his hands. The intensity of his rage towards that pedo Kash and Grab melts in the proximity of Gallagher’s body heat.  He doesn’t like how soft Ian makes him.  Giving back the gun, showing up at his work, hanging out after banging; it’s all fucking soft.  Like boyfriend, girlfriend shit.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Ian grins at Mickey dopily.It should infuriate Mickey, that little dumb fucking grin.Instead it twists Mickey’s guts, makes his stomach feel jittery.The three of them are already jammed together on the sofa, but he manages to shift towards Gallagher slightly, crowding their shoulders and arms together, bringing the sides of their thighs flush.Ian lets his empty hands drop, one landing high on his own thigh.He stretches his fingers out, until the tip of his pinky presses lightly into Mickey’s leg.That little clandestine touch has Mickey’s heart racing almost as quickly as their fast and furious fuck did. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mandy’s kicking his ass, smiling and laughing and looking happier than he’s seen her in a long time.Mickey lets her win, and throws the controller back at Ian, saying, “this game fucking blows anyway.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You could go back to your room, dick face,” Mandy says, eyes still locked on the screen.She’s really walloping Ian.“No one asked for your company.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey slides his left hand down, wedging it in between his own thigh and Ian’s.He slowly runs his thumb up and down on the outside of Ian’s leg.The touch is faint, and Ian’s wearing jeans.Mickey’s not even sure Ian’s aware, until he hears a shallow intake of breath.He glances at Ian, noting the blush on his neck and pink staining of his cheeks.Mickey’s thumb continues to move back and forth, pressing as hard as he dares.Ian’s hand stutters on the controller, and his on-screen character dies in spectacular fashion.Mickey smiles, open mouthed and genuine.“Nah, I’d rather watch you waste Firecrotch,” he says, popping a pizza bagel into his mouth with his spare hand. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Ian smiles down at his lap as Mandy chuckles.“Well, he’s shit at this game, so looks like you’ll get your wish.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">******</p><p class="p3">Ian lets Mickey know, in a round-about way, that he’s not actually banging Kash anymore.  It’s clear to Mickey that it’s not for lack of interest on Kash’s part, and that Ian’s feeling pretty awkward about the whole thing.  Mickey kinda thinks he should let it drop.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He can’t let it drop, though.Fuck that shit. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He’s almost sorry that Kash is such a weak ass bitch.It’ll make what he’s got coming to him all too easy.Mickey’s half tempted to tell his brothers they’ve got a kid fucker in the neighbourhood.Maybe let Mr. Hotshot, Lip, in on the secret too.Show up with a weaponized little South Side gang to whip the motherfucker’s ass.But they’d all want to know the details; how Mickey knows and who Kash’s been fucking.No, Mickey needs to deal with this shit himself.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He stalks the Kash and Grab, trying to pin down a schedule of when the pedo queer will be alone.On the upside, he doesn’t seem to work much with Ian anymore.On the downside, when Kash is not in the store, he’s in the apartment above it, at the beck and call of his bitch of a wife.And Mickey knows from Ian that the whole place is covered by cameras.It’s Ian’s excuse for not banging in the store.Lame pussy shit.Mickey says give the Mussies a show.But Ian’s insistent, and Mickey thinks it’s probably more than just the risk of being caught.He seems almost...ashamed, when he hints at his past to Mickey.It makes Mickey’s blood boil in his veins.At least Ian’s stopped wearing that fucking Blackhawks jacket. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey’s gotta bide his time, which he’s really piss poor at.In the meantime, he meets up with Ian, gets fucked raw, and celebrates the small victory of depriving a statutory rapist of a beautiful nine inch cock.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">And the boy attached to it.</span>
</p><p class="p3">******</p><p class="p3">Mickey takes a long drag on the cigarette before handing it over to Gallagher.  Even before Ian takes a puff, Mickey can see his breath in the air.  It’s fucking cold as shit.  Too cold to bang, even though they tried, somewhat halfheartedly, before finding a corner out of the wind where they could sit down.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“My ass is getting numb,” Ian says, trying to pull down his coat.The concrete floor of the abandoned building is frigid as ice, leaching all the warmth from their skin through their jeans. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey unravels his scarf from his neck and shoves it into Ian’s hands, saying, “Jesus, you’re a pussy.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Ian stares down at the scarf, and Mickey’s struck by how ratty and dirty it looks, tangled in Ian’s pale fingers.His hackles rise, a flare of defiance running up his back.“You wouldn’t last a day in Juvie,” he mocks, on the defensive.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Ian turns to look at him, and Mickey grabs the cigarette from his lips, inhaling deeply before crushing it out on the ground.It’s time to go; Ian’s gotta work soon, and shit’s feeling weird.Then Ian looks back down at the scarf, and quietly says, “thanks Mick.” He’s got this funny expression on his face.It’s all tender and warm, like Mickey is some big fucking hero for handing over a tattered old scarf.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Don’t be a fucking girl about it,” Mickey says, turning his head away and huffing out a breath.There’s something about Gallagher, the way he wears his emotions so clearly on his face, that scares the shit out of Mickey.The kid’s got no survival skills.It’s like he actually wants Mickey to see what he’s feeling, to know what he’s thinking.And that’s just Mickey’s worst fucking nightmare, right there - anyone finding out how he really feels, especially towards the scrawny ginger sitting next to him. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Ian stands up and lays out the scarf, folded neatly.“C’mon, get up.There’s room for two on here.”They both sit back down, asses on the scarf, sides pressing together.It doesn’t do that much to block the chill of the floor, but Mickey’s not sure he needs it anymore.His whole body feels alight, like he’s a powder keg and the smallest spark would set him off.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“How’s your ass now, princess?” Mickey asks.“All fixed up?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Ian barks out a laugh.“My ass feels great Mickey.How’s yours?”He wiggles his eyebrows at Mickey suggestively.“I’m especially wondering after yesterday’s activities.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Fuck you,” Mickey replies, but it lacks any bite.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“No, I fucked you!” Ian says loudly, way too amused with himself.He’s such a fucking dweeb sometimes.Under normal circumstances, Mickey’d want to head butt a dude for acting that way.With Gallagher, he’s holding back a smile, like a fucking sap.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">They’re silent for a while, passing soggy cigarettes back and forth instead of lighting their own.Mickey sneaks a glance at Ian.His brow is furrowed, and he’s sucked his lips into his mouth.Mickey’s seen this look before - it means the hamster on the wheel of Ian’s brain is running fucking overtime. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Hey, Mick?” Ian starts hesitantly.“When’d you know that’s what you liked?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey flips back through their conversation.“What, you mean getting fucked?”Ian nods, looking wary but also deeply interested.“That’s a gay fucking question, Gallagher.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“The gayest,” Ian says, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">And instead of doing the sane thing, like punching Ian in the face and getting the fuck out of there, Mickey opens his mouth and says, “when a freckled little fuck broke into my room and shoved his dick up my ass.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Ian’s eyes widen. He raises a hand, like he might touch Mickey’s arm, or face, or who the fuck knows where.“Don’t go all faggoty on me now, Gallagher.It’s no big deal.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah, ok.No big deal.” Ian says, thoughtful and quiet.  He drops his arm without making contact, and while Mickey feels relieved, he also has a hollow sort of ache in his chest.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey leans over, pressing his weight more firmly into Ian’s side.His head almost brushes Ian’s shoulder.When Ian turns to look at him, Mickey feels the warmth of his breath caressing his face.And he closes his eyes against it all, terrified that it’s real and even more fucking terrified that it’s not.</span>
</p><p class="p3">******</p><p class="p3">Mickey’d never fucking admit it, but he thinks about that first time with Gallagher a lot.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Everything about it was a fucking mess.Ian threatening him with a tire iron.His dad, first asleep on the couch, then coming into the room, seeing them in Mickey’s bed, fucking commenting on it.Giving the gun back to Ian.Ian trying to kiss him.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">And yeah, he thinks about how fucked up it was, how close he was to being caught, to dying; a bloodstain on the wall, a bullet through his head.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">But mostly Mickey thinks about how fucking electrifying it felt, when he had that Firecrotch Gallagher kid pinned underneath him, ready to swing the iron, and the kid’s gaze met his.No fear, no surrender.Just ‘holy fuck, what next?’It made Mickey stupid.Reckless.Two things Mickey couldn’t afford to be, when his last name was Milkovich. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Jesus Christ, the fucking jolt that ran through Mickey when Gallagher scrambled out from under him.The pure fucking WANT that coursed through his veins when Ian’s hands raced just as frantically as Mickey’s to get out of their clothes.The overwhelming hunger that clawed down his spine, pooling in his gut and groin when Ian took control, pushed Mickey where he wanted him, and fucked him just the right side of savage.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey thinks about it, and wonders if he’d have ever figured it out, had the balls to let someone fuck him, if not for Ian’s assumptions and nine inch dick.Why’d some skinny little prick like Gallagher think he could just stick his cock in a thug almost two years his senior without even asking?</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey thinks about it, how good it was and fucked up it was, and can’t believe how damn lucky he got off.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey thinks about it, and tells himself he’s dwelling on the hard, hot fuck.Not the boy.It could have been anyone.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey thinks about it, and knows that’s a fucking lie.</span>
</p><p class="p3">******</p><p class="p3">Mickey knows he’s well and truly fucked when Ian shows up at his door unexpected, out of breath and looking fragile as fuck.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I need to see you.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I-I-I don’t know where else to go.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">No one ever comes to Mickey. No one ever NEEDS Mickey.Not like this.Not for emotional shit.Need someone beat up?Or illegal substances, or a gun with the serial number filed of?You’re in luck, Mickey’s your guy.But if you need your hand held?Nah, find someone else.Mickey’s more likely to break your fingers.Unless you’re Ian fucking Gallagher.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">All thoughts of slamming the door in Ian’s face flee his mind.All thoughts of his Pops, in a rage behind him for some bullshit like Mickey trying to dry some damn clothes in a house without a working dryer, flee his mind.He can only see Ian, panicked and on the verge of tears, needing him.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey doesn’t give a shit when he admits he’s got Ian’s work schedule memorized.He doesn’t give a shit when he closes the door and his Dad gets in his face, popping him hard in the kidney.He doesn’t give a shit when he catches his breath, and walks outside in just a sweater, despite the freezing temperatures.He doesn’t give a shit about anything except getting to Ian.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">But then he gets to the Kash and Grab, sees Ian trying to hold it together at the register, and the mad rush of adrenaline and concern and fucking fondness that brought Mickey there leaves his body like rats deserting a sinking ship.He doesn’t know how to do this.He doesn’t know if he wants to.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">Ian sends him a shaky smile, and Mickey’s chest tightens. </span> <em><span class="s3">Yeah, I want to, </span></em> <span class="s2">he thinks.But he’s still glued to the spot, at a loss on his next move.</span></p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come,” Ian says shyly.“But I’m really glad you did.”And that’s proof, right there, that they’ve moved beyond casual fuck buddies.Maybe they never were.Whatever.Mickey’s never offered comfort to any of the chicks he’s banged.He’s never wanted to, been fucking disgusted if they tried to guilt him into it.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Nothing better to do,” Mickey says with a shrug of his shoulders.He breathes deeply, struggling to get his racing heart back under control.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Lucky me,” Ian says, with a faint smile on his face.“You wanna help me stock the milk?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">God damn it, now he’s hanging around Gallagher at work, helping him do his fucking job, like some whipped bitch?No, he needs to leave.But when Ian walks past him towards the fridge, Mickey’s hand reaches out to grab his wrist.He pushes up Ian’s sleeve a little, so he can wrap his fingers around the sensitive skin.“You alright now?” he asks brusquely, eyes trained on his boots.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">There’s a pause while Ian scrutinizes Mickey.Mickey’s gaze moves from the floor to the corner to the door - anywhere but Gallagher’s stupid freckled face.“Yeah, I’m alright now, Mick,” Ian finally says softly. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey can’t ask what was wrong, can’t choke out the words to discover what had Ian so worked up in the first place.Because he shouldn’t care, right?He shouldn’t give a fuck, and so he can’t give a fuck.He won’t give a fuck.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He can’t ask, but when Ian pulls his wrist from Mickey’s grip and grabs his hand, intertwining their fingers together, Mickey lets it happen.For about five beats of his rapidly pounding heart, Mickey lets it happen, lets himself be pulled along when Gallagher starts walking, lets himself look into Ian’s eyes when Ian stops at the fridge door and gives Mickey a warm smile.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey’s not good at communicating, he knows that.He’s rough and vulgar and trashy.But the way Ian’s looking at Mickey, the affectionate gaze and adoring little smile, it doesn’t seem to matter.Maybe Mickey gives Ian something he can’t get anywhere else, from anyone else.And that’s mind blowing, because Mickey’s known from a very young age that he’s a waste of space, a good for nothing little asshole. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey offers Ian the only thing he can - the only thing he thinks he’s probably good for - the comfort of his body.It’s not much, but it’s all Mickey has, and fuck, he hopes it’s enough. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Ian strips off his shirt as Mickey undoes his pants, then reaches forward to work on Ian’s fly.They are far enough into this...thing now, Ian has figured out that Mickey likes being pushed around a little.Not in a mean way.More like, being controlled.Letting go.And Ian’s fucking perfect at manhandling Mickey into position; being rough without being harsh, hard while still being soft.He spins Mickey around, drags his pants and boxers down to his ankles, grabs the meat of Mickey’s ass and kneads, and Mickey has to drop his head down, take a deep, steadying breath.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey grips the shelf in front of him, desperate to find his balance.Ian’s got both hands on his hips, but he’s been getting bolder lately.Sometimes he’ll grip Mickey’s shoulder, or slip an arm around his chest.Today, Ian does something new.He wraps a hand around Mickey’s on the shelf railing.Mickey lets out a stuttery little moan.He’s too far gone to shake Ian off, not sure if he wants to anyway.He fucking likes the feeling of Ian’s hand surrounding his, even if he’d never admit it, and it will never happen anywhere someone else might see.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The pain-pleasure-full feeling in his ass mixes with the tingling sensation from where his hand is entangled with Ian’s, running down his arms, all the way to his chest, where his heart flutters rapidly and his rib cage tightens. Mickey feels high; higher than he’s ever felt on beer or weed or the other mind altering substances he’s gotten his grubby little hands on.He feels fucking invincible, and he wishes this moment - this secret, illicit moment here with Ian Gallagher - could last forever.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey’s just not that fucking lucky.As soon as the thought crosses his mind, Ian’s rhythm falters, and he pulls his chest away from Mickey’s back.Mickey turn to see what the fuck is going on, and locks eyes with Ian’s creepy fucking boss, standing in the refrigerator doorway, watching them.“What the fuck?”Mickey asks, as he reaches down to rip his pants up over his hips.He’s in full fight or flight mode now, and his body has chosen flight.He pushes past Kash and runs through the shop, mind a blur and pure terror choking his throat.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It takes Mickey fucking forever to unlock the door and stumble out of the store.His pants are still undone, threatening to fall down around his ankles, held up by one sweaty hand.The hand Ian wrapped his long alien fingers around. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">In his blind panic, Mickey’s been running towards home, the very last place he should go.If word gets out, about him and Ian, his Dad will fucking murder him.What the fuck is he going to do? </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey slows to a walk, forms a plan.Most people think Mickey is stupid, or maybe even slow.It’s true that he’s never been the best at school, got held back a few grades, barely made it to freshman year.But Mickey’s street smart, and quick, and intelligent in ways that are easy to write off. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He’s not the one in the wrong here.Mickey just turned seventeen.There’s technically nothing wrong with him and Ian fucking, beside the neighbourhood they live in and the homophobic Nazi Mickey calls a Father.It’s Kash that’d be in hot water, legally, if his relationship with Ian came to light.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">When he reaches the house, it’s quiet for a change.He storms in, startling his old man from his spot sprawled out of the couch.“The fuck you doing back so soon?” Terry asks.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It’s possible Kash could let something slip.So Mickey says, “got a beef with that towelhead at the Kash and Grab. He’s been running his mouth, spreading lies about the family.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Terry springs up from the couch.“What, that fucking prick’s been talking shit about us?I’ll kill him.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You just got out of prison, Pops.I’ve got this covered.”Mickey hopes he sounds convincing. His heart is still racing a mile a minute in his chest.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah, ok.Smart thinking.You need a gun?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It almost makes Mickey smile. This whole fucking mess started over a gun.Kash’s gun, the one he was too chicken-shit to use.“Nah, just need to grab something from my room,” Mickey says.All he does is put on his coat, but he takes his time, makes Terry think he’s working out some master plan.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Fuckin’ get him, boy,” Terry says, and Mickey knows it’s the closest he’ll ever hear to ‘I’m proud of you, son.’If only Terry knew what got Mickey into this predicament in the first place.Mickey’s gut turns sour at the thought.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Ian is nowhere to be seen when Mickey makes it back to the Kash and Grab.Maybe it’s better that way.Mickey can threaten the kid fucker in peace, intimidate him into being quiet.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">But then Kash has the fucking nerve to look hurt.He’s all sad and devastated, and Mickey wants to smash his face into the counter.Because Ian is way to good for this fucking spineless asshole.Mickey can’t help but taunt him, just a little.Let the bastard know Mickey’s in on his little pedo secret, that Ian’s talked about it with Mickey, that maybe Mickey is Ian’s choice now.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Of fucking course, that’s when the douchebag finds his balls and actually fires the gun.He’s a horrible fucking shot, but he just keeps pulling the trigger until Mickey’s hit, crashing to the floor with blood gushing out of his leg.It’s the first time he’s ever been shot, and he can’t believe it’s because of a good bang session.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Ian emerges from the back room, just in time to witness Kash shooting the gun like a fucking crazy person.He rushes over and drops to Mickey’s side, checks Mickey’s leg, clutches his face.<span class="Apple-converted-space">  “Hey, hey, look at me.  Look at me.”  Ian’s</span> all flushed with concern and something bordering on devotion, and Mickey’s not sure he can deal with that on top of everything else right now.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Get out of here, Gallagher,” Mickey hisses through the pain.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Ian looks at him, the worry in his eyes changing to hurt.He pulls his hands back from Mickey’s face.“You don’t want me to stay with you?” he asks, sounding like his heart is breaking.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Jesus Christ.This kid will be the death of Mickey.“You need to leave before the cops show up.Don’t want you to get in trouble for this.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“But I won’t!” Ian says, leaning back down and staring at Mickey.“I’ll tell them what happened, that Kash shot you, that he didn’t give you a chance to pay.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Don’t be an idiot,” Mickey says.It’s hard to concentrate on anything besides the throbbing in his leg.“Kash will tell everyone why.I can’t risk having my dad find out.His bullet won’t hit my fucking leg.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You’d rather go to Juvie for stealing a fucking snickers bar?” Ian asks.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Been there before.No big deal.”He reaches out, puts his hand over top of Ian’s for a breath, wishing he could leave it there longer, knowing that’s not an option for him.He leaves a smear of blood on Ian’s pale skin when he pulls away, grabbing his leg again.“Look, just fucking go.I need to know you’re not caught up in this.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah.Yeah, ok,” Ian says.He slides his hand to Mickey’s cheek, swiping a thumb under his eye, before rising up and running to the door.He stops for a moment, turns to look at Kash.The man won’t meet Ian’s eyes.“You really are a fucking coward,” Ian spits, before he hightails it out of the store.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Kash raises his eyes, looks at Mickey with pure loathing.Mickey glares back just as hard.“Remember, Kash and Grab, keep your fucking mouth shut.”Even shot, bleeding all over the floor, unable to stand, Mickey knows he has the upper hand.The faggot’s still scared of him, and now Ian will never touch Kash again. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey’s won.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Yeah, he’s got a gunshot wound, and he’ll be carted off to Juvie.Kash will claim to have stopped the neighbourhood thug.None of that bullshit matters.Ian knows the truth.Ian’s seen Kash for who he is.Mickey doesn’t need to beat the shit out of the guy for the umpteenth time to teach him a lesson.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Ian held Mickey’s face as he lay on the floor.Ian begged Mickey to look at him, as if Mickey wanted to look anywhere else.Ian ran to Mickey’s door, sought him out, held his hand, smiled at Mickey like he was someone worthwhile.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Mickey’s won.</span>
</p>
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